


Spun

by SubwayWolf



Category: Grimm (TV)
Genre: Blood and Violence, Breakfast, Domestic Fluff, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, First Kiss, Memory Loss, Multi, Non-Consensual Kissing, Size Difference, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-08 20:01:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3221591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SubwayWolf/pseuds/SubwayWolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick tries to solve various problems by kissing, with a varied array of results and success.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hank

**Author's Note:**

> Alright! Round two in the Under 1K Challenge... which I've already failed. Chapter one is 1,072 words. I'll just call it the Approximately 1K Challenge from now on.
> 
> Shout-out to my AP United States Government teacher who loaned me the DVDs of seasons one, two, and three of Grimm. Blame him for anything I write for this fandom... including this.
> 
> No promises on how often I'll update. I got this surge of inspiration after watching an episode about an hour ago. I cranked this out in under thirty minutes. You can probably tell.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick is tipsy drunk and Hank is darkly, devastatingly drunk and emotional things happen when Nick tries to cheer his partner up.

Drunkenness is a spectrum. In police reports, they used the phrase "under the influence", which could mean anything. There were happy drunks, there were funny drunks, there were somber drunks. There were drunks who threw their fists around and ended up in handcuffs at the end of the night. Nick had encountered those types and more. Many, many more. So it wasn’t really a spectrum. It was more like a ellipses-shaped continuum. 

Nick, fortunately, knew exactly where his friends fell. Most of them were reasonably handled. Juliette was fun and airy. Monroe was egotistic and talkative, which was annoying. Rosalee had a certain promiscuity about her when she drank, which is why she didn’t do so very often. Hank was different than all of them.

Hank was a special case, as he was in most things. Hank was a somber drunk. When he had a few drinks in him, Hank became dark and devastatingly cheerless. Nick hated it. When sober, Hank was always friendly and humorous, but whenever they drank together, it was a different story. A story that Nick was getting tired of telling.

“I can’t stand it, Nick,” Griffin said into his glass. Nick wasn’t keeping track of how many drinks he’d had. Hank’s shoulders were slouched, his elbows up on the bar as he sat hunched over on the barstool to Nick’s right. “Can’t freakin’ stand it.”

Nick himself had a few drinks, though he had been keeping track. He was the driver, after all. His brain was firelight between his ears, flickering and dancing and sending sparks into the air. “I don’t think you can stand at all,” he muttered.

Hank’s eyes shifted from the bottom of his brandy to Nick. He looked Nick straight in the face, right into his eyes, or at least the best he could. “Being alone.” He exhaled. “It hurts, man.”

Nick raised an eyebrow. His tongue halted for just a second as he tried to consider what was being said to him. A cry for help… did Hank want to be rescued? _Of course not._ Nick looked at the digital clock at the other end of the bar. It was close to midnight. “Yeah. Reminiscing about your ex-wives means it’s time to go home. Let’s head out.” 

But when Nick grabbed his coat and began to rise, Hank grabbed his sleeve. “No,” he said, and it Nick wasn’t a little tipsy then he might not have been inclined to notice the desperation in Hank’s quiet voice. When Nick took his seat, Hank shifted in his so they were facing each other. “Stay.”

Nick blinked, and his vision stared to blur. Maybe he’d had a little too much to drink. Nick, after all, was not a broody drunk or a violent drunk. He was just a bad drunk. Simply, he was not good at holding his liquor. He got tipsy easily and got bad hangovers no matter how much or how little he poured down his throat.

“I _need_ you, man,” Hank said, and once he started, the words kept coming. “This job that we do… We’ve seen a lot of shit, you know?” He let go of Nick’s sleeve after slowly releasing the tight grip his fist had there. “Good shit, bad shit, evil shit. Fairy tale shit. You know… _Grimm_ shit.”

“That’s a lot of shit,” Nick remarked. He really didn’t know what else to say. 

If Hank noticed that Nick spoke, he gave no inclination to it and just continued. “So much _death_. This job is a constant reminder that everything can be gone. Bang, you’re dead. One slash of a knife. Fire, poison, fists, whatever. There’s life, and then we’re gone. I mean… that’s _fucked up_.” He shook his head gently, nearly getting lost in thought. His eyes, bleary and brown, met Nick’s again. “You’ve always been there for me,” Hank said gently. “People in my life, they come and go. Not by dying or anything. They leave. My wives, they left… ‘cause of me. But you’re still here.”

It didn’t come to Nick at first whether or not Hank wanted him to reply. He sat there starting, lips slightly parted, as his friend slouched over and stared him in the eyes. Nick’s brain didn’t have time to think before Hank started talking again.

Hank raised his fingers in a weak gesture in Nick’s general direction. “It sounds dumb, I know, I know. But I think about it a lot. You’re my best friend, my best man. I don’t know if there’s anything that can change that.” He propped his head up on his elbow, looking at Nick with half-closed eyes. He sighed deeply. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. Maybe that… maybe that I don’t know what I’d do or where I’d be without you. Maybe dead, maybe not. Who knows. Doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here now, at eleven forty-nine at night, in this shitty bar. You’re here, and you’re not going anywhere.” He lifted his head and put his arm down. The corners of his lips turned upwards, ever slightly. “You’re so cool. I fucking love you, man. Never leave.”

To put it simply, Nick was confused. What was Hank trying to accomplish? Was he just drunk? Was he doing that thing he did when he was asking something but did not phrase it as a question? Nick didn’t know. He was too tipsy to think about it coherently. All Nick knew was that there was a problem. His friend was having a problem and Nick had to solve it. 

Nick kissed him. It was a quick decision. It came to him without a trace of a thought, like blinking or breathing might. Nick’s brain surged with light, or perhaps with the booze, and when their lips met, he kept his eyes open to watch as Hank’s brow furrowed in alarm, but his lips pursed all the same. It was a warm kiss, a quick one, nothing special at all, and as quickly as it began, they moved away from each other. Hank stared at Nick, and Nick sat there dumbly, his mouth still open slightly.

“Nick…” Hank said slowly, carefully. He wasn’t sure what sort of ground they were stepping on, and he proceeded cautiously. “That was fucking weird.”

Kissing was not a good problem solving tool. And if he weren’t drunk, Nick probably would have remembered that for next time.


	2. Juliette

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which they kiss for the first time since she lost her memory and Nick has been thinking about the sensation ever since.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's been a while. I'm finally on season four, which is good, and even better - I've managed to keep this under 1K this time! 
> 
> I'm graduating soon and will have more time to do bullshit like this! Hooray! Maybe I'll even write that Nick/Renard fic I've been dreaming about...

It was a dull sort of ache, a withdrawn yearning sensation in Nick’s heart and bones that drew him to think of her so much more than usual. Nick was almost envious of Juliette – almost. To forget everything and move on, it seemed like an inhuman feat. At times, he found himself wishing that he too could forget, but whenever he saw her, sitting there blank-eyed and distant, raising a slim hand up to put her hair behind her ear, the memories came back to him. And they fought him hard, wracked inside his mind like a firecracker hitting the walls of his skull and leaving black, ashen skid marks. He remembered. He hurt. And he desired.

Whatever Adalind had done to Juliette, she had done it remarkably well. The cat scratches faded away but the side-effects did not. Of course the doctor’s couldn’t explain it. Even Rosalee was unsure what happened or what could be done about it, which was beyond worrisome. All they could do was wait, and time carried on soundlessly, like life without music. Nick hated every second of it. Worst of all, Juliette wasn’t seeming to get any better. 

It was remarkable to him that he never truly felt the extreme extent of his love for Juliette until their relationship was almost entirely gone. Not being able to touch her or be near her or smell her hair was agony, every single day. She was far away, as if out of his reach. Nick felt hated, and the awkwardness of the situation churned at his stomach. He found it impossible to focus on work or anything at all. His showers were hours long but passed as quick as wind because of how he would stand under the water and close his eyes and picture her there in front of him, smiling, touching him, saying his name and laughing at his dumb jokes.

It felt the worst when they were at home together, happening to pass when going their separate ways. On a typical day, she would say goodbye with a quick kiss on the side of Nick’s head or by angling her cheek out to be smooched as Nick ran out the door with a half-cooked bagel in hand ready to respond to a call. But there were no more typical days. Every day was like a bad dream, living someone else’s loveless life.

When Nick found her, she was at the dining room table, fishing through her purse for something. He approached her but then forced himself to stop, staring at the back of her head as she remained quiet. “How was your day?” he asked, pretending like everything was still as it was.

“Fine,” Juliette shrugged. She wouldn’t turn to meet his eyes. “I’m going out to dinner with some friends tonight. I don’t know when I’ll be home.” She closed her purse and slung it over her shoulder, then moved towards the door.

Nick closed his eyes as tightly as they could shut. He moved a hand to her direction but stopped himself and brought it back to his side, drawing it closed into a fist, so tightly that his fingernails dug into the skin of his palm. “Wait,” he said, then pleaded, “Wait, Juliette.”

She stopped and turned around and looked at him. He opened his eyes to see her. She watched with a lowered brow as he moved towards her and stood directly in her path. “What?” she asked, realizing he did not seem like he was going to speak any time soon. She looked down at him, lips twitching slightly downwards in a tragic frown, and her eyes were blank, as if she were talking to a stranger, looking for a way to step around him and move on with her life. She had forgotten everything about him, everything they had ever shared, and it showed in her faltering eyes.

Nick ventured to think, just for a moment, that it might help her remember, so he kissed her. 

The ache faded for that series of moments when their lips pressed together. Nick relaxed against her, exhaling gently through his nose, relieved to be close again. He felt love in his heart, warming him like an oxygen-consuming campfire, sucking the air right out of his lungs and brightening his body with heat. But Juliette remained stiff. She allowed him his moment to kiss her but did not return the affection, just remained patient. Nick pulled his lips away and looked into her eyes again to see if anything had changed. If she felt anything at all, she was not showing it. She smiled at him for a moment, a smile filled with pity. Her expression fell just as fast as it came. 

The problem remained unsolved. The gaping hole in Nick’s gut was no longer a distant ache, it was now present and real and it swallowed him whole. “I’m sorry,” Nick said, because he was, and painfully so.

Juliette wasn’t looking at him any longer. She took a step back, and then another. “Me, too,” she said quietly, and when she moved for the door again, Nick didn’t stop her. He wouldn’t dare to. He loved her too much to stand in her way again.


	3. Adalind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick realizes a part of her died when they made contact, and that scares him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished season four a few weeks ago, and let me tell you, the finale just made that Nick/Juliette chapter I posted before this about a hundred times more depressing. I'd like to personally thank the internet for not spoiling it for me so I could watch it and suffer and feel like shit all on my own. Thanks, internet.

Blood. When the taste filled his mouth and the dank scent flowed into his nostrils, Nick realized its presence shouldn’t surprise him. In fact, it was welcome. Drawing blood was the goal, the first step. His and Adalind’s physical fight in the dark, damp Portland forest made it easy to achieve, and only one stipulation followed. They had to kiss.

And as they did, cold and damp upon the muddy ground of the forest clearing, for half a heartbeat Nick found himself wondering whose blood it was. The blood tasted tainted, poisoned, but for just a moment he couldn’t decipher if it was from toxic fear, and whose, or from the powers of a Hexenbiest, or the powers of a Grimm. He supposed it didn’t matter. 

This kiss was literally a problem-solving tool. Adalind Schade was a problem, her Hexenbiest half even more so. Nick had a special way to fix her. The touching of the lips, the mixing of fluid and blood was enough to make the change, or so he had heard. He hoped with every fiber of his being that it would be enough, that this would be worth it.

She was pinned beneath him. He was grabbing her by the wrists, holding her down so she would not writhe away or hit him again. He was laying atop her small frame, pressing her to the muddy ground with the use of his own weight and force, his hips atop hers, shifting together, legs latched around, locking her in place. Despite everything, this was far from intimate. This was personal. This was murder.

While Nick closed his eyes, purposefully blind to his own savagery, Adalind kept them wide open, staring in revulsion. Her lips stiffened up while his relaxed, pressing against hers, immovably strong. He closed his eyes even tighter, forcing himself to stay as long as he deemed necessary, and she fidgeted, letting out sporadic, muffled protests which Nick readily pretended he could not hear. The communal blood ran hot and bitter, and then cold, all at once. Their mouths twisted against each other in disgust and confusion and sour hatred for the other. 

Nick moved himself off as fast as he could when he felt he had been there long enough, jumping back up to her feet if she felt the urge to attack again. But she stayed on the ground, gasping, and Nick stood with his feet shoulder-width apart and breathed in the night winds and wiped his tainted lips with a firm swipe from the back of his hand, bruised, raw knuckles grazing against his own flesh with no regard for gentleness in a fraught attempt to wipe off the sour taste that refused to leave his scowling mouth. 

And so she changed. She shivered when it happened, her whole body shaking for a moment and then slackening at once. A part of her, a part of her soul and being, it died screaming, spirit escaping to the sky as simply and weakly as a breath of smoke from a chimney in winter. They kissed and she died. It was surely more complicated than that but as he stared down at her, Nick could not stop oversimplifying and could not stop being afraid. 

Of course, she was not dead. She was just empty. Incomplete. Fragmented. Even if it were for the better, that seemed worse than dying. When Adalind sat up in her place upon the ground, she looked at him, horror stricken upon her face like an eternal stain, and Nick felt guilty. She parted her pretty, bleeding lips to speak but nothing, not even breath came out. Tears started to pool up in her eyes. Nick almost thought she would scream. He hoped that she would, because it meant she was scared. And if she wasn’t, she should be. She should be. 

“No,” she whispered instead, so quietly that Nick doubted if she had spoken at all. Her head hung, damp hair falling past her eyes and shielding her face from an empty world. At the back of her head, her golden blonde hair was caked black with the wet mud she had been forced into. She looked miserable and dirty and, overall, not the same. “Please,” she whimpered, closing her tear-filled eyes, hunching over, making herself smaller. It was unclear what she was pleading for or to whom she was begging. Nick doubted that she would attend to him with such frail helplessness. He doubted even more that she was deferring to a divine being of any sorts. 

Some misplaced pain in his heart grew much stronger when he looked down at her. Nick desperately wanted to say he was sorry, and only opened his mouth for a second before pondering if he even was. It would be a harmless courtesy, he figured, then reconsidered. Apologizing would not make him feel better, and it would not piece the broken woman before him back together. He wanted to leave. So he did.

And when she looked at him one last time, there was hatred in her eyes, unrestrained. It was unfaltering and clear and it chilled Nick right down to his bones. She didn’t need to be a Hexenbiest to terrify him. She did that well enough all on her own.


	4. Monroe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick feels bad for staying at Monroe's house for so long and kisses him in the kitchen for a long time until the ticking of the clocks drives him crazy again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm definitely supposed to be doing Latin homework right about now, but hey, some domestic Nick/Monroe is far more important and exciting. I was totally inspired by the M!Shep/Kaidan romance scene in the Mass Effect 3 Citadel DLC. 
> 
> It's occured to me that I've never actually written anything from my favorite pairing in this fandom. Saving the best for the last (next!) chapter, I guess!

It was not often that something took Nick Burkhardt by surprise, not after all the crazy shit he’d seen in his life. But no matter how much tactical training he endured, how many Wesen he killed or apprehended, or how often he had a gun or pair of claws in his face, there was always one thing that could sweep him off his feet: emotions. Nick’s personality type only slightly favored feeling over perceiving, but the greatest expense of his high emotional intelligence was the tendency to _be_ emotional. It was never clear if he experienced his feelings more intensely than most people or that he was just exceptionally bad at dealing with them.

This time, it was the feeling of guilt which crept up on him, slowly at first, but one day he woke up and it washed over him hard, hot, and heavy, a massive rock of limestone pressing him down to the floor at his chest, gracing his face with an infinite grimace and compressing his abdomen with an incessant pressurized weight. It didn’t matter that Monroe woke up with a smile and made breakfast every day, giving no inclination whatsoever that he wanted Nick to leave. Nick felt it anyway. He was probably lying to himself, but the sensation was real enough. And he hated it. He needed it to be gone.

It wasn’t clear if Monroe knew any of this, but it wasn’t like it mattered to him either way. Nick was his friend, and there was not much of anything that could change that. So when Juliette lost her memory and understandably wanted to live separately from Nick, it was Monroe to the rescue. Nick was falling and Monroe caught him, it really was that simple. And so they lived together, temporarily, and it wasn’t a big deal. Until Nick made it into a big deal.

It was early still, too early even for Nick to drive into the station and start work, and far too early for him to even bother making himself presentable. He was in flannel pants and the old paint-stained t-shirt a size and a half too big for him. His hair was rumpled and his breath probably stunk. He hadn’t passed a mirror yet and was dreading the moment when he had to. He entered the kitchen unceremoniously, lazily leaning against the countertop, watching Monroe and his easy smile, distantly admiring how carefree and compassionate he was. 

And so there Monroe stood, tall frame hunched over the stovetop, clad in his red plaid robe tied loosely around his hips, brewing coffee and frying up some egg whites and bacon. He had already downed at least one cup of coffee, for the smile on his face showed him to be awake and eager, as always. “Morning, Nick,” he started cheerfully, turning his head for a moment so his eyes showed just above his shoulder. “Vegan bacon and eggs for breakfast this morning.” He turned back ahead to his work, gesturing loosely with the spatula. “If you don’t like it, don’t worry. We have hot sauce.”

Nick brought a hand up to his eyes and rubbed at them exhaustedly. Around him, the perfectly-synchronized ticking of clocks continued, incessant and ceaseless. It was something Monroe must have established sensory blindness to, but Nick had not yet gotten used to it and perhaps never would. “Hey,” he started, slowly, barely able to raise his voice out of a sleepy mumble. “I was just… I have to say, I feel guilty about staying here.” Monroe side-eyed him quickly, so Nick pretended to look away. “I know, I know. You’re always saying it’s okay, but…” Nick swallowed hard, folding his arms across his chest. “I should do something to repay you for letting me stay here.” 

It was Monroe’s nature to make a joke out of this, which was annoying and unwelcome, not for the first time. “It’s funny you bring that up,” he said, even though it wasn’t. “I was thinking that you should start paying rent. Or at least put some manual labor in. You could chop wood, or something. Clean toilets... with a toothbrush.” He flipped over the bacon in the pan and it sizzled loudly, heat escaping, a faux-meaty scent filling up the room and making his nostrils flair.

Almost unconsciously, Nick was getting closer, and closer, until he was at the countertop right beside Monroe. Predictably, Monroe was deflecting, and this wasn’t making Nick feel any better. “I’m serious,” he protested. The guilt was hard and heavy. His ribcage was tight, the breaths he took into his lungs only putting more pressure on his stalwart bones.

Monroe looked at him again. His eyes were narrowed in that endearing way, and his lips were half-upturned with that characteristic snarky grin. “No kidding. You’re always serious. It’s my least favorite thing about you, or at least one of the top five.” He turned back to the sizzling food to make sure he wasn’t burning it, then looked back to his friend. “I admit I’m curious, though. What did you have in mind?” 

They seemed to move closer to each other. Nick was not sure if he was imagining it, but in time with those ticking clocks, the distance between them shortened, little by little. The guilt in Nick’s chest was heavier than ever, but in the very last moment before he took initiative, a seed of doubt sprouted in his heart – was this emotion guilt at all, or was it something else entirely?

And so they kissed, pressing their lips together in the kitchen. Monroe was calm, placid, allowing himself to be kissed. Nick put his hands up into Monroe’s hair, the silky sensation tickling his fingers as he kept Monroe’s head in place, holding him, grazing his thumbs across his jawline and feeling the hairs of his outgrown beard pricking against the pads of his fingertips. Nick kept his eagerness at bay and progressed slowly, moving against Monroe’s lips with a gentle fervency, soft and slow. Their eyes were closed, their breathing halted, keeping all focus on the sensation of the kiss and the warmth of each other’s body heat. Monroe kept the spatula in one hand and put the other on Nick’s waist, then they drew even closer, their bodies pressed against each other much as their lips were; malleable and relaxed and contented. They would pause to breathe on occasion, not rushing, keeping each other close and patiently allowing the affection and pleasure to surge through them like a slow summer sunrise.

They were at it for so long that Nick was starting to forget if he was hearing the clocks or his own heart, and so he pulled away. They stared at each other for a long moment after that, Monroe noticeably and understandably confused. The guilt for squatting in Monroe’s home was gone, but now Nick felt guilty for this. It was inescapable. Nick moved his hands away and took two steps back. The clocks became louder, somehow. 

The look of alarm on Monroe’s face faded, slowly, and soon he was smiling again, part of his grin comprised of a sympathetic, awkward grimace. “So, um…” he looked back to breakfast, assuring he wasn’t burning it, and then laughed to himself. “How do you want your eggs?”


	5. Captain Renard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nick kisses his boss and Sean is more concerned about losing his powers than a harassment lawsuit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm finally home after finals week of school so I got to catch up on the rest of Grimm! And holy shit, so much has happened in these five seasons. These guys just can't catch a break.
> 
> I finally wrote some Nick/Renard which is probably the best ship in this fandom, though I really do like Nick/Monroe, too... 
> 
> Actually, you know what I learned over the course of writing this? I ship Nick with everyone - men and women - I don't care who he's with, as long as he's safe and happy.

Being morally white had its benefits, the foremost being a guarantee of a life generally free of sin. When Nick’s hands turned red, he washed them. When he messed up, he atoned and apologized and was forgiven, always. Nick was a cop, a damn good one at that, and he saved far more lives than he had ended – same applied to him being a Grimm. As much hatred as he received from Wesen, it was clear that Nick was more divine than anything else. He was pure, angelic, and kind. He was eternally and whole-heartedly good, down to his core. Nick was not guilty of anything, really. But he sure felt as if he was.

Sometimes it took a level head to talk to him, and that was the only way he could feel better after hurting someone or, more typically, after someone was hurt because of him. Sometimes that level head belonged to Hank or Monroe, but sometimes Nick needed more convincing than that. And the most convincing person he knew was Captain Sean Renard. 

Last night Captain Renard had taken a large number of people from the precinct out for drinks to celebrate him being re-signed as commissioner for another term – a unanimous vote, and an expected one. They were also celebrating a case they had solved just that day, one that was unsurprisingly Wesen-related. Nick should have been happy about it, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the pair of rampaging Fuilcré who had to be shot down, and the innocent, now fatherless children they were leaving behind.

So Nick drank a bit more than he really should have, and he was a lightweight when it came to liquor, so he went past his limit far too quick. Being a ranking officer, Captain Renard wasn’t too fond of drunk driving, and since his place was closer, he let Nick have a platonic sleepover. Nick was on the couch and Sean slept in his own bed; Sean was gracious, but not that gracious. This was all just a courtesy, anyway. Besides, Nick was really in no state to be alone.

Now, the morning after, Nick’s mouth twisted as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. He was tired. He could feel it, but even worse, he could see it. His eyes were red and heavy, his hair tangled beyond repair. He wasn’t sure how badly he’d slept, or if he had slept at all. He wasn’t really all that sure about anything. 

Perhaps one thing. He was sure that outside the bathroom door, Captain Sean Renard was in his bed, all every inch of his bare skin up to his nose covered by the blue sheets. Nick had seen him; he liked to pull all of them up over his skin so it lay over his body like wrinkled, rumpled piles of warmth. Nick himself did not sleep with much covers anyway, which made them kind of perfect for each other, but that wasn’t true outside of sentiment. In fact, anything outside of sentiment made Nick sick to his stomach. Or maybe that was just the hangover.

Rubbing sleepiness out of his eyes, Nick exited the bathroom and turned the light off behind him, only to find that Captain Renard was not in his bed. Nick walked across the apartment to find him.

It didn’t take long to find him, and when he did, Nick was almost swept away. Sean was standing at the massive window that was the back wall of his apartment. He was looking outside, down at the busy streets of rush hour below him. He had well-fitting black dress slacks, a black belt, pristine black dress shoes, a silver buttoned-up dress shirt which was tight enough to show his midsection and pectorals and well-defined arms, and a navy blue silk tie to complete the look. 

Nick could feel warmth rise to his cheeks. “Wow. You look good.” In all honesty, Sean wasn’t wearing anything unusual. He wore a suit to work every single day, and he looked good in them all the damn time, but right now, with the sun rising behind him and the Portland skyline out the window, he just looked… so…

“Good morning, Nick,” Renard said in response, as if being hit on by a subordinate was a normal and okay thing that he was used to. He adjusted the sleeve cuffs around his wrists and fastened them with onyx links. He looked formal, he looked authoritative, and most of all, he looked sexy.

Of course Nick had thought about his boss before. He’d always had an interest in men of authority. Being put in a position of submission, even at work, always tended to make him a little light-headed. And Renard was so much bigger than him that it was barely even Nick’s fault that the sexual fantasies started happening and stayed with him for years. In fact, if anyone worked underneath Sean Renard and didn’t have a crush on him, Nick would be worried about their sanity. All it took was a sex drive and eyesight. 

Nick didn’t even notice himself approaching Renard until they were face-to-face. He looked up at his officer and licked his own lips. “Thank you for letting me stay,” he said. His heart started to pound. 

They really were close. Sean’s office, with the blinds drawn, with Nick on his knees under the desk – that would have been a nice setting, but this was nice too, because they were alone, so it was more intimate. Nick had to act on these feelings, he just had to. He had to satiate them, and this was as good of a chance as he’d ever get.

Nick’s own heart was so quick and fast when he kissed his captain on the lips. He had to raise up high on his toes. He was pleasantly surprised when he felt hands on his hips, not pushing him away, but inadvertently easing him closer until their torsos and abdomens pressed together.

Nick was the one to drop back down onto the flats of his feet and break their lips away. “Well, that went better than expected,” he said, not even able to think about how stupid it sounded until it came out of his mouth. 

Sean swallowed hard. He didn’t say anything, no admonishment or confusion or reciprocation – nothing. He maintained his tall, proud posture, but his eyes shifted away for a moment, and then back to Nick. One of his fists clenched at his side. His face seemed to lose a bit of color.

Nick raised a hand, slowly and cautiously, and touched Renard’s neck. With the pads of his fingers he could feel his captain’s arteries pulsing at a quickened rate. “Are you… scared?” 

Sean didn’t say a word at first. He averted his eyes from Nick’s face and looked out the window, facing Portland below. He had a cold gaze in his eyes, and the only glint to it that ever came was from the heat of anger or with a sparkle to match a smile. Nick wasn’t even sure which he would have preferred right now.

The silence made it seem like forever since they’d kissed despite it being just a few moments ago. There remained a new heat in Nick’s cheeks and a fluttering in his stomach that he hadn’t felt since his first kiss in high school. “Sir?” he asked, then licked his lips.

Sean took Nick gently by the wrist and pulled his hand down away from his neck. “The kiss of a Grimm usually doesn’t end well for Wesen,” he said in a low voice, like a whisper. That was true, and something Adalind knew all too well. 

It took that for Nick to realize that maybe kissing his boss was not a good way to rectify his crush on the man. “I’m sorry, sir,” he muttered, letting his head fall. He saw his bare feet and Sean’s expensive dress shoes. He realized how sloppy he must have looked, still in pajamas, teeth not even brushed yet – god, his breath must have stank, what a horrible time to kiss someone – and meanwhile Sean was so fresh and handsome.

But Sean didn’t seem to mind. He understood Nick’s rashness as a sign of his lingering regret for what had happened a day prior. “You look better than you did last night. I hope you still don’t feel regret for what happened yesterday at the arrest. You got the job done and did well.” He raised a hand and placed it fondly on Nick’s shoulder. “Death is something that can happen every day, but I can’t give you a break because you feel a little bad. This is part of our job. If I could change it, I would, but it’s what we do. Keep your head up high, Nick. You’re a Grimm, but you’re a police officer, too; don’t forget that.”

Nick felt the heat leave his face and his heart rate level out. “I never will,” he promised.

Sean nodded once, affirming. He knew that Nick always kept his word, so he did not need to question him. “Go get dressed and ready. We should head out to the precinct,” he suggested. Things were back to normal, as if they never happened. A small smirk crossed Captain Renard’s lips. “No rest for the wicked.”


End file.
